


A Darker Shade of Blue

by Mars_McKie



Category: Thunderbirds
Genre: Alternate Universe, Evil!Gordon, Evil!Scott, Evil!Virgil, Good!Alan, Heroes to Villains, Moderate Violence, evil!John, villains au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-04-12
Updated: 2018-07-07
Packaged: 2019-04-21 23:27:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 8,109
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14295765
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mars_McKie/pseuds/Mars_McKie
Summary: What had started as a normal rescue turns into a very bad day for Alan when he gets sucked through a wormhole to a parallel universe where the Tracy brothers are the villains. Can Alan survive in this dangerous new world? Will he ever find a way back?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> My apologies for the vagueness of the tags, I will be updating as I go along and will make it clear at the start of new chapters if there are any tags or triggers (this may or may not go to some dark places, I haven't decided yet). I think I know where this fic is going, it's just the motivation to write it... as usual!

“Alan, you need to stabilise that front wall fast or the whole building will come down.”

“Ngh! F.A.B. John,” said Alan, pressing his finger hard down on the button for the nanocrete, as if how hard he held his finger down would make any difference to the speed at which it was pumped.

“I have my hands full up here, so it’s up to you, Alan,” came Virgil’s voice over the comms. In the sky above him, Thunderbird 2 was doing all it could with the grapple systems and VTOLs to stop the building from collapsing in on itself.

“I’m about a minute away from finishing up over here and then I can give you a hand,” said Gordon, who was busy stabilising the opposite wall.

“Negative; I’ve beaten you to it, Gordo!” Alan said successfully as the final crack was sealed for the moment. “I’m gonna get inside and make sure our _intrepid inventor_ is alright.”

“Be careful, Alan,” said Scott, who was redirecting air traffic to safety miles above them, and Alan could hear the concern in his oldest brother’s voice. Alan pulled on his helmet, climbed out of the POD and made his way through the front door, helpfully blown open for him.

Inside the warehouse was a mess. High winds whipped through the corridors throwing anything that wasn't fixed down into Alan’s face. He staggered and crouched low as a kettle flew at his head.

“Is it just me, or is it unusually breezy in here?” Alan shouted into his comms.

“It’s not w-winds you’re facing,” Brains answered. No doubt back on Tracy Island their engineer was busy running the readouts from Alan’s suit compared to what they already knew about what they were dealing with. “They’re invisible m-magnetic fields radiating out from the centre of the b-building; they’ll only get stronger the c-closer you get to the generator.”

“That’s just great,” Alan groaned.

“Alan, if it looks bad, get out of there!” said Scott.

“I can do this, Scott!” said Alan, forcing himself back onto his feet and struggling through the onslaught.

Making it through the door at the end of the corridor, Alan found the main hub of activity. The situation had been described to them in the initial call for help by Kinnear, but Alan’s jaw still dropped at the sight- a three metre high metal ring containing an unstable wormhole pulsing with electromagnetic energy. In his sales pitch, the inventor Langstrom Fischler said he was “attempting to use the wormhole to reach the far edges of the Solar System so that humanity would be able to mine untapped resources on distant planets.” As with most of Fischler’s ideas, it had sounded plausible right up until the moment when it had gone wrong.

As Alan staggered into the open space, the man himself, Langstrom Fischler, strode forward to meet him. “Oh, it’s you people again. Come to ‘save the day’, no doubt!”

The air quotes were rather unnecessary, Alan thought. “Fischler, that wormhole you’ve made is drawing all the power from the grid for five miles and it’s sending out magnetic fields which are disrupting all the planes and vehicles in the vicinity. Not to mention this building is about to collapse.”

“Oh sure, let’s be all negative about it. I manage to build a functioning wormhole and all you want to do is talk about some cars backfiring,” said Fischler, ducking as a keyboard nearly hit him in the head.

“Please can I punch him when all this is over?” Scott groaned over the comms. They all knew he wasn’t serious, yet nobody raised any objections.

“We need to turn it off, now,” said Alan. He pushed past Fischler to where Kinnear was attempting to wrestle with the computer system. Wires trailed across the floor into the base of the portal, but all of the screens were filled with static. “What’s the situation?”

“If we don’t shut the wormhole down in the proper order, then there’s no telling what could happen to it,” said Kinnear. “But the screens aren’t responding to commands.”

“I’m sure it’s just a simple displacement of energy... within the flux generator unit. Yes, that’s it,” Fischler supplied, walking off to deal with the made up problem.

“Remind me why you returned to work for this guy?” Alan muttered.

“The solar collector space station I was working for blew up,” Kinnear sighed.

An almighty _boom!_ from the wormhole generator drew their attention as more electromagnetic energy exploded through the room. Out of the corner of his eye, Alan saw Fischler being thrown through the air and disappeared behind some tables. Finally, a positive development.

“The generator has turned c-critical!” Brains yelled in his ear. Maybe not so positive afterall.

“You all need to get out of there now!” said John, Scott and Virgil not far behind with their own warnings.

“There’s still a chance we can turn this thing off; we have to try!” Alan countered.

Another wave of energy smacked into them, sending them off their feet and into a wall of servers. As they groaned, they watched as a cable became detached from the computer and flew through the air.

“We need that cable to connect to the generator!” Kinnear cried.

“I’m on it!” Alan said, and raced across the room.

“Alan, no! It’s too dangerous!” Scott shouted. “ _Alan!_ ”

His path to the cable took him directly in front of the wormhole generator, and that was when it happened. All of the other bursts of energy had exploded outwards, but as Alan stood before the generator it was like a giant had taken an almighty breath in, sucking Alan through the wormhole.

Alan gave a cry of surprise at the sudden change of events, there was a flash of blinding light, then he hit the concrete floor on the other side of the warehouse hard. His head whacked into the floor with a force that he felt through his helmet and he blacked out.

*

“ _Alan? Alan?_ ”

It was like somebody was calling his name from the other end of a very long tunnel. Alan attempted to focus on the voice and gradually it grew closer, more familiar...

“Alan!”

“Nnngh, Scott?” Alan groaned.

“Take it easy, little brother,” Scott sighed, relief flooding his voice.

Alan raised an unsteady hand to his head. Somebody had removed his helmet. He was still lying on the concrete floor of the warehouse, the silence now pressing in on him, and with a jolt the memories came back to him.

“But... the generator, the wormhole, Fischler... what happened?” Alan cried.

“It’s alright, slow down; it’s over now, we’re taking care of everything here,” said Scott, an edge developing to his voice. Without warning, Scott stood up and moved out of Alan’s line of sight. There was the sound of a foot connecting with something, and someone whimpered.

Stunned, Alan raised his head off of the floor a few inches. The wormhole generator stood cold and terminated, the air absent of the static charge from the previous electromagnetic displacement. Scott, dressed in a dark blue suit with black tie ( _when had he changed?_ ) moved away from Fischler who was curled in on himself on the floor ( _had Scott really just followed through with his threat to hurt Fischler?_ ) Movement across the room drew Alan’s attention; two hulking men in black suits and sunglasses, one guarding the door, the other speaking into his phone. As Scott moved back towards Alan, the man on the phone turned to speak to him.

“That last boom drew a lot of attention, Boss; reporters are three minutes out,” the man said.

Scott nodded. “We need to move. Give me a hand here...” Scott and the man walked over to Alan and, with a hand under each arm, pulled him to his feet. “Sorry bro, but we have to move fast.”

“What?” Alan murmured, struggling to keep up with what was happening. The bump on his head wasn't helping. The two taller men marched him from the room. He strained to look back over his shoulder to the generator; Fischler was still on the floor while Kinnear trembled behind a computer. Both of them looked at Alan with an expression of awe and fear.

“What exactly are you wearing?” Scott smirked at him, drawing his attention back.

“Huh?” Alan looked down at his blue and red International Rescue uniform. “It’s my protective gear. Where’s yours?”

“Very funny!” Scott huffed a laugh at that. This only served to make Alan more confused.

“Well, what are you wearing?” Alan countered, nodding to the posh tailored suit.

“Your predicament here pulled me away from work,” Scott grimaced. “Honestly Alan, coming here alone and without a bodyguard? What were you thinking?”

Alan opened and closed his mouth like a goldfish, unable to properly process either the question or the absurdity of the situation. He was saved answering as they reached the other massive bodyguard by the door.

“Coast is clear, Boss. Should I take his car?” The man jerked a key in his hand towards Alan. _Since when did he have a car?_

“That would be wise,” Scott concurred. “The more we can make it look like we weren’t even here, the better.”

They made it out into daylight where the strangest sight awaited Alan. No POD vehicles, no Thunderbirds, not even Virgil or Gordon who must surely be worried about him after that rescue. Instead, a red sports car and a black limousine stood on the curb. The man with the car keys made for the sports car, while Scott guided Alan into the back of the limousine and the other bodyguard got in the front behind the wheel. Alan looked back to the warehouse; the nanocrete that he had sprayed on the front wall was gone, and there weren't even any signs of structural damage. _What had happened?_

Alan ran through his options in his head. The rescue had been real, and it seemed highly unlikely that his brothers would try to prank him like this after a rescue. Alan studied Scott, who was currently busying himself with the minibar- it was definitely Scott, and not an actor, yet there was something off about his expression.

It was possible that the knock to the head had given him a concussion and he was dreaming all of this. The pain from where he had hit his head throbbed steadily. That idea had an amount of logic to it, but everything seemed too real, and if he was able to recognise that this was a dream then shouldn’t he be able to wake himself up from it? Alan pinched himself hard. Nope, that definitely hurt.

One final possibility, through years of playing video games, crossed his mind. He had been sucked through a wormhole generator built to be a bridge that would connect two points in space-time; _what if he had somehow crossed into a parallel universe?_


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for all of the support that this story had gotten so far! I shall attempt to keep to a schedule of weekly updates, providing I don't become too busy (or distracted! I'm sorry!)

Coming to the conclusion that he must have somehow crossed into a parallel universe, Alan tried to remember all that he could about them. From what he knew from the time that John had given him an impromptu lecture, parallel universes were only a theory with no scientific proof to back them up. Science fiction on the other hand dictated that a parallel universe would follow your life up until a point when you made a choice where you went one way and your parallel twin went the other, thus affecting the course of your whole life.

With that in mind, Alan wondered what that turning point in his life could have possibly been. He analysed what was currently his only point of reference- his oldest brother Scott, who had mixed his drink and was relaxed back in his seat as the limo took them away to some unknown destination.

Slicked back dark hair, blue eyes, set jaw with dimpled chin, long strong limbs; for all physical appearances he was exactly the same but it was the clothes which were different, not to mention Alan hadn’t forgotten how he thought that Scott’s attitude was off. The tailor-fitted suit and the limo suggested wealth, as did the fact that he was drinking in the middle of the day, so Alan hazarded a guess that the Tracys in this timeline were more business-minded. It seemed likely that Tracy Industries (which funded their rescue operation) was still booming, and from the absence of their vehicles he guessed that the Thunderbirds had never been built. Perhaps Dad had focused on business rather than forming International Rescue-

 _Dad!_ Alan drew a sharp breath. What if it was possible that he was still alive? Or even -did he dare hope?- that _Mom_ might still be alive? After all, it had been her death that had prompted their father to develop a rescue organization to provide aide anywhere in the world (or off it, depending on the scenario) to anyone who needed it.

As Alan thought this, he was brought back to earth as Scott said, “You’re being very quiet.”

“Huh?” Alan stammered.

Scott waved his glass in Alan’s direction and said, “So... you were in Fischler’s warehouse for the demonstration. Is his ‘Wormhole Generator Technology’ anything for us to be worried about?”

“Uh...” Alan paused. Did he really want to tell this alternate Scott that he had come through the wormhole? Would he believe him? Then again, if this Scott was more business inclined then what was there to stop him from buying out Fischler and shutting down (or worse, destroying) Alan’s only potential way back home? He had learned something about business from his boring lessons. Something told him this was something he should keep secret until he knew more about this universe.

Scott leaned forward expectantly in his seat. “Come on, kiddo; he invites you over for a demonstration, dresses you in fancy protective gear, and shows you what he claims to be a wormhole generator. Something good must have happened.”

“Oh, no. It was a complete wash-out,” Alan said in a would-be casual tone. “Fired a few electromagnetic waves around the room then broke.”

Scott leaned back. “That’s probably for the best. I can’t see that wormhole technology would much benefit the company at this time, so long as it isn’t far enough advanced to be a problem to us.” His answer confirmed Alan’s suspicions. Scott’s tone shifted as he continued, “But you were knocked out when I got there; is Fischler a threat? Do we need to _deal_ _with him?_ ”

“What?” Alan exclaimed. There it was again- that hinted implication in his tone of something dark. Scott raised an eyebrow at Alan and he realised that perhaps his exclamation had been too out of character. “No, that won’t be necessary... they’re well intentioned, but, _uh_... incompetent.”

“Hm, I’ll go off of your judgement,” Scott pursed his lips and took a sip of his bourbon.

In the silence that followed, Alan thought out his questions. He really hadn’t liked how Scott had implied Fischler should be dealt with, and he felt he should tread more carefully. “So... why aren’t Gordon and Virgil running to check I’m alright?”

Scott smirked. “Gordon’s working; whether he’ll be back tonight I don’t know, depends on how well the trade-off goes...”

“Right...” Alan had no idea what Scott meant by trade-off, but he didn’t like the sound of it.

“And Virge is in D.C.”

“What, Washington?”

“What other D.C. could I mean?”

“Oh, right, yeah,” Alan nodded. “And... John? Kayo?”

Scott’s expression turned sour. “John’s in New York, as ever, and we don’t call Kayo unless we have to. You know that.”

Alan’s chest faltered. Why didn’t they call Kayo? He got the impression of a fractured family, his brothers scattered across the coasts. Something was definitely off but he couldn’t place what. He lost confidence in asking about Mom and Dad, and instead cast his mind around. He finally recognised the LA skyline out of the window. “Where are we heading now?”

That question earned him a frown. “We were heading home to drop you off, but now I’m thinking you could do with going to the hospital.”

“I did bump my head when I fell,” Alan admitted. He hoped this would be enough to cover any strange behaviour on his part. Scott did seem satisfied by this confession.

“We'll head home first though. People will talk if we take you to the hospital in that get up!” Scott chuckled as he nodded towards Alan’s International Rescue uniform again.

Alan had to stop himself from staring as the limo drove through Beverly Hills, then pulled into the private driveway of a modern mansion. A few paps tried to stick their cameras right up to the tinted windows to get a shot and Scott had to pull Alan away from the window by his sash. So many things he had to learn about this new world.

Out of the limo and into the mansion they went. The inside was grandly laid out with a sweeping staircase in the hall, smart leather seating and flat screen TV along one wall in the living room, modern brushed chrome kitchen, and all decorated with various modern art sculptures not unlike what he was used to on Tracy Island.

 _Could use some of Virgil’s paintings around the place, though_ , Alan thought sadly. It was so close to being what he was used to, but he was missing his real family.

Scott sent him upstairs to change and it took Alan a minute of peering into rooms to find which one was ‘his’. Finally, he found what must be his room- it was laid out similar to what he had at home, though the bed was bigger and with a lot less clutter about the place. This other Alan was obviously neater than him.

A rush of worry flooded him- what if the Alan from this universe suddenly turned up? That could raise some awkward questions, but Alan remembered how Scott had said other-Alan was already inspecting Fischler’s generator, and surely Scott’s bodyguards would have found if there was another Alan in the building, so he guessed that other-Alan had been sucked through the wormhole at the same time as him and was now in his universe.

 _My universe_. Alan wondered if his brothers would notice the difference. Not for the first time, he wondered what his counterpart was like.

Fishing through his new wardrobe, Alan turned up his nose. It was full of dark blue suits like what Scott was wearing. Jackets, waistcoats, trousers, ties, shirts, shirts with funny collars which were probably meant for formal occasions but Alan didn’t know because he’d never worn anything so formal before in his life, a rack of shoes so shiny he could see his reflection in them... Mercifully, he found a pair of tracksuit bottoms and a t-shirt (from the look of them probably intended for exercise rather than lounging).

Alan peeled off his layers of uniform and hid them at the back of the wardrobe, not knowing how or if he would be able to return, but needing something of home to prove that it was real.

A thought crossed his mind. His wrist comms had a computer built in; if this universe had internet that he could access, he should be able to look up who his new family were.

He detached the comms from his uniform; the holoscreen popped up and with a few taps he was connected. Fearful of what he might find, Alan typed ‘The Tracy Family’ into the search bar.

Clicking on the top article (‘Everything you need to know about the Tracy brothers’), Alan read:

‘ _If you haven't heard of the Tracy brothers then where have you been for the past twenty-six years! Not only are they the five most eligible bachelors in America, they also own the highest grossing company in the field of technological developments_.

‘ _Their story starts with businessman Jefferson Tracy, who in 2030 founded Tracy Industries; a company that quickly rose in prominence and power during the Global Conflict thanks to its weapons manufacturing program_.

‘ _It was during the Global Conflict that Jeff would meet Doctor Lucille Taylor- the woman who would become his wife after he proposed to her on the day the Global Conflict ended. They quickly married and went on to have five children- Scott (26), John (25), Virgil (24), Gordon (22), and Alan Tracy (19)_.

‘ _With a need to provide for his family, Tracy Industries continued in its manufacturing boom, specialising in arms, weapons and vehicles used by the USA and allied armies in areas of the world that continue to flout the peace treaty_.

‘ _But the happiness of the family was not to last, as five years after the birth of their youngest son Lucille tragically died while the family were on a skiing holiday in the Alps. While many expected Jeff Tracy to withdraw from the business world, he instead threw himself completely into his work whilst raising five sons at the same time_.

‘ _Tracy Industries enjoyed a decade of prosperity before the family were to be hit by another tragedy as Jeff went missing-presumed-dead at the hand of a secretive terrorist organisation, led by known spy-turned-double-agent The Hood, who on multiple occasions over the years has attempted to steal information from Tracy Industries_.

‘ _The public expected the company to fold without its founder, but as it appeared that stocks would plummet the eldest son Scott stepped into his father’s shoes at the head of the company and brought Tracy Industries away from the verge of disaster_.

‘ _Despite hardships and set-backs, after securing a new multi-billion dollar ten year deal with the GDF last year and the individual successes of each brother, the Tracy family look to be riding high on their wave of glory for years to come_.’

Certain words from the article jumped out at Alan- _tragically died, missing-presumed-dead_ (it had been too much to hope for), _Scott stepped into his father’s shoes at the head of the company_ (that explained a lot of what Scott had said to him earlier), _weapons manufacturing_... but the Tracy Industries he knew had never made weapons. The company that Alan knew specialised in transportation technology.

From reading the article, Alan surmised that it wasn’t so much what he had done to shape this alternate timeline, but what his father had done- choosing to have the company make weapons during the Global Conflict, then never having the idea for International Rescue after their mom had died...

There was a loud knock at the door and Alan jumped, nearly dropping his comms.

“Alan! Hurry it up, I need to be getting back to the office,” Scott called.

“Coming!” Alan stashed the comms with the rest of his uniform, stood up and opened the door. Scott frowned again at his choice of clothes.

“Really?”

Alan shrugged. “We’re only going to the hospital.”

Scott rolled his eyes and glanced at his watch. “Fine. Come on then, I’m already going to be late to a meeting.”

Alan fell into step behind him, curious to see what else this new world had in store and making a note to next time wear a suit.


	3. Chapter 3

Scott stretched back in his leather chair. His executive office was on the top floor of the Tracy Industries building, which reached higher than all other skyscrapers around so his view was largely unobscured; though the sun had set an hour ago, during the day he had the best view in all of Los Angeles from the window wall behind him. The room was decorated in his minimal style with some shelves for files, a leather sofa and low table, a painting of a rocket which hid a small wall safe, his university degrees from Yale and Oxford, a sentimental photo of the family left up after Dad first set it there, and some random potted plants.

Two stiff chairs stood opposite him with a large desk in-between, currently covered with various papers relating to the takeover of the Hyper Tube. It hadn’t been a bad idea for inventor Tycho Reeves, but high speed travel -if applied to the movement of military factions- could have one day made certain transportation services provided by Tracy Industries obsolete. Better to nip these things in the bud.

The holo-comms unit on his desk showed Alan’s report that had been sent through from the hospital twenty minutes ago. That had been a strange addition to his day- suddenly getting a call that Alan had accepted Fischler’s invitation to view his supposed ‘Wormhole Generator’, but he had accidentally given his bodyguard the slip to go there alone. Scott had grabbed his own bodyguards and taken off after his youngest brother.

Turning up at the hospital with Alan in his most casual of casual dress, Scott insisted on Alan having a brain scan. Alan’s bodyguard finally turned up at the hospital after he had been located driving around downtown Los Angeles; he had been following Alan to Fischler’s warehouse, but was left in the dust after his sports car put on a burst of speed, leaving the bodyguard completely lost without his guide. With him at the hospital, Scott was able to leave for his meeting. He’d only been forty minutes late in the end. Tardiness was something he couldn’t stand in others, but others could wait for him.

The brain scan returned clear, as did the x-ray of the back of his skull, though the doctor hadn’t ruled out the possibility of a concussion and ordered Alan to rest up and return should any other symptoms show themselves.

Another file bearing the GDF insignia sat open on the desk; the Global Defence Force had recently been rolling out new Reconnaissance Operation Robots (dubbed R.O.BOTs for short), created with the aim to limit civilian casualties in the field. This all seemed fine, except the GDF had drafted in a different company to build them. It was no skin off of Scott’s back if the R.O.BOTs had malfunctioned and caused thousands of pounds of damage.

 _Oh well_ , he thought. _As the old man once said; disasters make for a bigger profit._

He also wouldn’t complain that it taught the GDF not to go back on their ten-year deal with Tracy Industries. It was important that the GDF should remain in his back pocket.

Scott considered fixing another drink when the holo-comm flashed up with a request for a video call. He looked at the caller ID. It was John.

Knowing that his brother would probably force through his message should Scott ever dare to refuse his call anyway, Scott pressed the green button and a hologram of John’s torso popped up.

He was dressed in a white shirt with unbuttoned blue waistcoat, his tie loose and his top button undone. He pushed his semi-rimless glasses up his nose as Scott answered.

“Evening bro; isn’t it a little late on the East Coast?” Scott asked amiably.

“What’s this I can see on Alan’s medical history about him being in hospital today?” said John, ignoring the question.

Scott sighed. _Always so direct and to the point._

“He took a bump to the head while scouting out Fischler Industries,” Scott explained. “I took him in as a precaution.”

“Ah,” said John, his eyes flicking back to something out of shot.

“Why?” Scott pressed. “Have the media picked up on it?”

“One website has just posted a photo of Alan coming out of the hospital in his civvies-” Scott scowled on hearing that, “-but that should be easy to bump down the online recommendations. If any reporters ask for comment I’m sure our publicity team can find some non-life-threatening, non-contagious reason for him to be in hospital.”

“We do seem to get a lot of ‘colds’ running through the family,” Scott said sarcastically. ‘Colds’ or ‘muscle cramps due to fitness reasons’ were their publicity team’s favourite excuses for if any of the Tracys needed to visit the hospital under strange circumstances.

“That aside, how is he really?”

Scott frowned and pursed his lips. “He seemed out of it at the warehouse. Definitely signs of a concussion.”

“Hm,” John nodded.

“He was asking all sorts of questions in the limo back,” Scott remembered. “Asking where you three and Kayo were.”

John’s lips parted in surprise. “Possible amnesia?”

“Based on the way he was behaving,” said Scott. “Trouble is, I can’t exactly be at home to watch him, and he definitely can’t come into the office if that’s the case.”

“I have my hands full here,” said John. Scott knew that John wasn’t exactly one for having house guests anyway. “What about Grandma?”

“Good plan,” Scott agreed. “Could you call her and make the necessary travel plans for tomorrow morning?”

“Already on it,” said John. Without another word, the call was cut off and he was gone.

“Bye,” Scott said with a sarcastic wave of his hand.

He let out a short sigh. That would mean Alan was out of his hair for a while, though no doubt Grandma would have a few choice words about Alan going to Fischler’s alone and the circumstances of him getting hurt in the first place.

All thoughts of extending his stay for another drink wiped from his mind, Scott scooped up the GDF files and set them in the wall safe along with some other files that he wasn’t technically meant to have in his possession. With a cursory sweep of the desk he could see no other papers which could prove to be incriminating, so he summoned his PA to clear his desk and set off towards the villa himself.

On the limo drive home, his personal comms flashed up with a message from John:

‘ _10:03am on Tracy5 from LAX. They’re expecting him_.’

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry these next few chapters might be slightly shorter!
> 
> ak47stylegirl on Tumblr made an interesting point about how they don't appear to be plain evil, and I definitely think that the scale of 'evil' is all a matter of personal perception, though as far as 'deep down they still have good hearts that want to do good' goes, I feel like their goodness extends just far enough to look out for other family members, we shall see!


	4. Chapter 4

Finally back in 'his' bedroom and away from the prying eyes of his oldest brother and personal bodyguard (as nice as Mark was, Alan found he could be very nosy in his business), Alan was able to resume his research into his new life and new family at his leisure.

He pulled up article after article on his comms in his hunt for information, and what he had found span around in his head as he tried to process it all.

The Scott from his own universe worked himself practically around the clock to ensure the smooth operation of both International Rescue and Tracy Industries, the company being able to tick along and driven by the individuals working for them while the Tracys’ personal profit went into the operation of International Rescue. By comparison, after the disappearance of their father four years ago and a few months after finishing his Masters in Business Studies at Oxford, this Scott had also risen to the position of Chairman of the Board, Chief Executive Officer, and Chief Operating Officer of Tracy Industries, but (without International Rescue to consider) his commitment had been fully dedicated into the company.

Scott’s added involvement showed- his drive and dedication had seen the company develop to new heights of success at a time when it looked like the whole business would fold, and though in recent years he had passed on the position of COO and day-to-day running of the company to another he was still CEO and Chairman of the Board, making a huge profit off of it for the whole family and fuelling his own lifestyle as a billionaire-playboy-philanthropist.

Alan smirked. His Scott had always been a terrible flirt (by which, Scott so rarely got the chance to flirt that when he did he was out of practise and terrible at it!) but this didn’t seem to be a problem for the new Scott. The media had reported on a multitude of rumoured relationships (only a few of them ever becoming official and never lasting long) with any number of Hollywood actresses, famous singers, and models. Alan was no stranger to the fan sites ranking the five Tracy brothers in order of attractiveness, and it came as no surprise that Scott was ranked top on the vast majority of them.

While it all seemed so familiar, Alan couldn’t push away his nagging worries- this company was built on the success of making and selling weapons for wars in distant countries.

As he knew it, after the end of the Global Conflict in the 2030s every country had come together and agreed ‘no more fighting’, the agreement being the foundations on which the World Council and GDF were built, representing all the nations of the world. But in this parallel universe, with the driving force of the weapons supplied by Tracy Industries behind them, the USA and allied countries had secured the surrender of opposing countries and forced the peace treaty through in that way. This meant that even though the Global Conflict had ended in 2038 and a World Council had been formed by the allied countries, the USA had been at war with individual countries ever since and created the GDF (supplied by the continuing deal with Tracy Industries) to continue their battles.

It felt like everything that Alan knew had been twisted around this point. The wealth of this Tracy family had been built on weapons supplied for wars, and that did not sit well with his conscience.

Pushing that aside for the moment, he moved on to John. After he had completed his degree in Telecommunications at Harvard, John had moved away from the public eye. That seemed closer to what Alan expected of John, but he was unable to figure out why he had withdrawn.

It seemed that this John had never fulfilled his John’s ambition to go into space, and the Thunderbirds had never been created so he couldn’t be up on Thunderbird 5. Any articles or images that Alan could find of John were dated from at least three years ago. All he had to go on was what Scott had said in the limo; “John’s in New York, as ever.” What he was doing there, Alan had no way to know.

On the other hand, Virgil was easy to find. He had learned from Scott that Virgil was in Washington D.C., but Alan was very surprised to learn that Virgil was a Senator for the State of California.

Finishing his degree in Politics at Denver, Virgil had risen quickly through the political scene with a campaign funded by Tracy Industries to become one of the youngest Senators ever in Congress (even after the eligible age had been lowered following the end of the Global Conflict), in addition to being tipped to one day become the youngest ever President of the United States.

“Wow Virge,” Alan breathed. Pictures of him coming out of the Capitol in a grey two piece suit, one button done up the way that only politicians did, made him look very suave.

From what he could tell, the funding that he put into the arts and his love for them helped to endear him to voters, giving him a feel of real heart and caring which Alan had felt was lacking from the rest of this family. Certainly, with his becoming Senator, Virgil had to renounce any interests in individual companies, thus creating a noticeable public distance between himself and Tracy Industries. Though there were still plenty of images of him attending company events under the safe blanket of ‘family interests’.

Marginally more hopeful, Alan turned his sight towards Gordon.

Scott had already said “Gordon’s working”, and certainly all records indicated that Gordon worked within Tracy Industries. Images and articles showed him flying around the country to monitor various project developments.

News articles from seven years ago reported on Gordon winning Gold in the Butterfly at the 2056 London Olympics at the age of 15, hot topic articles in the following year leaked details of his wild ‘sweet sixteen’ lifestyle and gleefully pairing them with photos of their father looking exhausted (Alan felt his heart twist looking at the man), while articles from a year later reported on his speedboat accident and recovery. Gordon appeared cheerful though sobered in videos, and again it was so close to the story that Alan knew.

Similar to John, there were no details of what work Gordon was actually doing within the company (he was credited in articles as an Executive Vice-President and Member of the Board), and Alan still remembered Scott mentioning Gordon taking part in a “trade-off.” With all the stuff he was learning about the company, his mind was running wild with dodgy possibilities.

His searches for Kayo had returned no results, so with a sense of trepidation he searched for his parallel counterpart Alan Tracy.

It seemed that while growing up, his counterpart had been spared the brunt of the media storm that his older brothers had been swamped with, though that hadn’t spared the attention from paps and teen magazines. Since he had turned sixteen that courtesy had vanished, but he was doing a good job of keeping up a pure family-friendly image.

He was surprised to learn that until a few months ago he’d had a girlfriend in teen actress Sofie Albright. He found himself blushing as he looked at pictures of the two of them together- she was a very attractive girl and he’d not even had his first real kiss yet, so to find himself suddenly having a history was a shock to his system. Images of them being happy together, then articles detailing a breakup that had seemed amiable on both sides. It made him feel oddly sad, despite having no personal investment in the relationship other than it being his alternate universe counterpart's life that he was now living, and he couldn't help but wonder why they had split up.

He was a teen sensation alongside Gordon for many years. There were many articles speculating on what part Alan would go on to play within the company; whether he might go into business or sports or politics like his older brothers. Teen fan sites were adamant that he should stay away from business and stop himself from gaining the same playboy image that Scott had gained, while others delighted in the idea that he might one day develop a bad boy image like Gordon had.

Alan pondered on his path himself. Everything felt wrong, and he certainly didn’t belong in this universe. Resigning himself to this new world felt like he would be giving up. He had to at least _try_ to return to his own life. He bit his lip, attempting to formulate a plan.

There was a gentle knock on the door. Alan hid his comms under his bedding before calling, “Yeah?”

Scott opened the door, walked in, and perched himself on the corner of Alan’s bed.

“How’s your head, kiddo?” he asked, not unkindly. The manner of his smile, his smooth eyes, the tilt of his head... it would have seemed so normal had Alan not known better.

“Meh, it’s still throbbing, but the doctor reckons I’ll live,” Alan said casually. He’d watched some videos of his counterpart to gauge his character, but he knew that interacting with his new family would still be awkward.

Scott accepted his answer with a smile and loosened his tie. “I know we talked about your image being clean-cut and just like any other teenager, but the tracksuit bottoms might have been taking it a bit too far.”

Alan lowered his gaze. He’d probably be making these kind of slip ups for a while too. “Sorry, I’ll wear a suit next time. I suppose it was wrong that we also got Drive-thru on the way back?”

“Seriously?” Scott grimaced. Alan nodded and Scott rolled his eyes. “Bloody hell!”

Alan laughed hesitantly. “And, uh, how was your day?”

“The usual, trying to keep shareholders happy,” Scott shrugged. “Listen, Alan; the doctor recommended to keep an eye on you in case any symptoms of a concussion surface, but I can’t be at home all the time and you shouldn’t come into the office in your condition, so how do you feel about going out and staying with Grandma on the Island for a week or so?”

Alan’s eyes widened and before he could check himself he blurted out, “What, _Grandma? Tracy Island?_ ”

Scott frowned. “What other Island could I mean?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Following the end of the Global Conflict, a lack of people stepping forward to run for Senate led to the ratification of Article 1, section 3 of the constitution, lowering the eligible age that one can run for House or Senate. (Or some other way that I can swing it for Virgil to be in the Senate despite being only 24 and too young!)


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I started writing this chapter back in May, but have only just got around to completing it! I promise I haven't forgotten about this (nor my OC The Hacker series).
> 
> Warnings for this chapter for moderate violence and hostage situation.

Two black SUVs flanked on either end of a black Mercedes. Despite the company image, in this instance it was always black rather than dark blue- dark blue was the colour that represented Tracy Industries, whereas black was universal, undefinable, when trying to differentiate between parties. Like the vehicles, the musclemen were in black suits, though there was one figure -sat in the front passenger seat of the Mercedes- in that signature shade of blue.

The guy wore a dark blue and pinstripe two-piece suit with white shirt, black tie and shoes, in addition to a pair of blue-rimmed heart-shaped sunglasses (despite the tinted windows and the fact that it was a moonless night outside. The guy wearing them didn’t care; he thought they made him look cool).

His name was Gordon Tracy, and he was the fourth brother in a family of businessmen.

Despite his speedboat accident six years ago, he had kept in fantastic shape even if he would never take part in the Olympics again. The scars on his chest served as a reminder and a warning to him, far more effective than any of his father’s lectures, but -he thought sardonically- if it hadn’t been for the accident then he never would have found his true calling in the company.

After they had yelled themselves hoarse and Gordon was grounded and isolated from all of his previous ‘friends’, Jeff had taken his troublesome son in to his offices and set him to work as an assistant in the security department. It started as a lot of admin, but then there came times where Gordon would accompany the guards to meetings where his father would forge more scrupulous trade deals.

Gordon’s interest had been piqued, and his father taught him to channel his bad temper into his new line of work. It was an arrangement that worked for both of them.

After his father’s death, Gordon had continued as the boss of a small faction within Tracy Industries- a department who handled such deals which were better kept off the books, using more brutal methods as necessary.

Winding between the buildings in the San Francisco docks, they reached their destination; an old, rusty warehouse that stood among other old, rusty warehouses. There was nothing to set this one apart from the others, yet as the three cars approached the double doors slid open of their own accord to admit them.

The convoy pulled to a halt and eight muscle men climbed out of the two SUVs. Gordon’s personal bodyguard moved around from the drivers side and opened the passenger door for him. He stepped out and observed his surroundings.

The strip lights along the ceiling flooded the warehouse with light and Gordon recognised more all-in-black Tracy Industries musclemen already on site, having secured the area earlier in the evening ready for the important trade off, along with a number of GDF guns brought along by the other side.

It was an important event and there could be no slip ups tonight.

In the middle of the empty space, a man in what would have previously been a smart shirt and trousers was forced into a kneeling position, his wrists bound to his ankles and a black bag covering his head while his fancy tie was loose around his neck. Two soldiers stood either side of him, their guns trained casually on the prisoner.

Another man with styled blonde hair and wearing the blue uniform of a GDF captain stepped forward as Gordon approached.

“Rigby!” Gordon called, extending his hand in greeting. Captain Rigby attempted to pull him in and thump him on the back in a display of dominance as they shook hands, but Gordon had none if it.

“Gordon Tracy,” Rigby said in reply. It didn’t escape Gordon’s notice how the muscle on both sides tightened their grips on their guns.

“I hope we didn’t keep you waiting,” Gordon grinned. He knew they were twenty minutes late. The man on the floor shifted in discomfort.

“Not at all; I take security very seriously, as I see do you.”

Gordon moved around Rigby to once again consider the man on the floor. At Rigby’s indication, one of the soldiers roughly removed the black bag to reveal a bald man with a gaunt face and heavy eyebrows. One eye was green while the other a dull amber, his mechanical eye faulty. He snarled at the harsh light in the warehouse as the bag was removed. Gordon removed his sunglasses to see him properly.

“The Hood, I presume?” Gordon said coldly. Anger flared up inside him as he looked down on the agent -once a GDF spy, now turned rogue- responsible for his father’s death, but he held it inside in the presence of the GDF.

The Hood glared up at him. Before he could respond, the laser dot of a sniper rifle appeared over his heart. The Hood looked down at the red light on his white shirt then looked up and mouthed, “ _Traitor_.”

Gordon moved his hand through the laser, the red light flickering over his hand as he waved in familiar greeting to the woman behind the rifle. From the angle of the only available window in the warehouse, he worked out the direction in which she was set and removed his hand so that the dot appeared over the Hood’s chest again. Despite the distance of the shot, the laser dot did not waver.

“Master of disguise, man of a thousand faces, _the Hood_ ; I’m glad you were able to find time in your busy schedule to meet with me,” Gordon said cheerfully, drawing the Hood’s attention back to him.

“The pleasure is all yours, I assure you,” the Hood replied, his silky tones steady despite his circumstances.

“Oh, it will be, I promise you,” Gordon grinned. He could not wait to have this man in his grasp.

“The crimes committed by you and your wretched family have gone on for too long,” the Hood continued, making his piece known. “And I will not stop until I see Tracy Industries answer to all those who have suffered at your hands! Your brothers will be undone, if not by me then by others you have wronged, and you will know justice!”

His patience snapping, Gordon delivered a swift kick to the Hood’s stomach. He curled in on himself as much as possible, his shocked breaths filling the warehouse until he could steady himself again. The tension drew out, each side waiting for the next move, when Gordon replaced his sunglasses and turned to Captain Rigby.

“We would be happy to take the Hood off of the GDF’s hands,” Gordon said.

“Colonel Casey will be glad to hear it,” Rigby nodded, the relief unintentionally coming through in his voice. The Hood had broken out of GDF prisons twice already, but with no prior knowledge of the layout of the Tracy Industries facilities they hoped to finally pin him down for good.

Not to mention it would give Gordon plenty of time with his father’s killer.

Rigby motioned to one of his soldiers who held a USB in one hand and a tablet in the other. “The stolen plans.”

“Oh yeah,” Gordon sighed. He knew he’d forgotten something. “We still good on the agreed price?”

Rigby nodded and Gordon pressed his thumb to the tablet, allowing the transaction.

“That ought to keep Scotty happy,” said Gordon, accepting the USB containing the information that the Hood had stolen from the company. He spun it through the air on its chain and yawned widely. “If that’s all folks then I’m gonna call it a night. A pleasure doing business with you.”

Captain Rigby nodded and motioned to his men who packed up their guns and cleared out of the building. The red laser dot remained on the Hood’s shirt until two of Gordon’s men flanked him, detached his wrists from his ankles and forced him into a standing position, his wrists still bound behind his back.

“Come on, Hood,” said Gordon, his cheerful demeanour back in place. “It’s a loooong drive back to LA, and I haven’t had a chance to install a TV in the boot of the car yet!”

**Author's Note:**

> Feedback appreciated


End file.
